


Mint

by oisugasuga



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Idols, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Not really though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-10
Updated: 2017-01-10
Packaged: 2018-09-16 15:46:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9278531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oisugasuga/pseuds/oisugasuga
Summary: Oikawa isn’t the only one who knows how to get the things he wants, Suga thinks smugly, the pleats of the mint skirt he had pulled on a few minutes earlier swishing around the tops of his thighs pleasantly as he walks.





	

Suga knows Oikawa is staring at him, has felt the weight of the other’s gaze ever since he had emerged from the dressing room backstage, and he smirks to himself, smooths his hands over the soft fabric covering the tops of his legs.

 

When the staff had revealed the different outfit choices for the next performance, Suga had automatically chosen the ensemble that came with a skirt. 

 

He’s well-aware of how good his legs look in shorts, has worn them on several occasions; when the band visits the beach, when it’s sweltering outside and he wants to run to the corner store for ice-cream, for the music video of that one hit single that they filmed in Otaru.

 

But emphasizing the slender length of his thighs and the graceful curve of his calves during their concert tonight isn’t the only reason Suga had been so eager to raise his hand and claim the outfit a couple of days ago during rehearsals.

 

No, most of the incentive had revolved around Oikawa.

 

He and Oikawa had started dating about six months ago, but as of late their lives have consisted of nothing but tours and shows and interviews, and Suga feels like they’ve done nothing but sing and dance and smile perfect smiles, laugh at all of the right moments, get up at crazy hours of the morning to practice, bleary-eyed and sore.

 

Opportunities to spend time together have been few and far between. The last time Suga had been alone with Oikawa for more than five minutes had been two weeks ago when they had managed to convince Kuroo to switch with Oikawa and room with Kunimi at one of the endless hotels they were staying in.

 

Suga misses Oikawa, misses watching crappy sci-fi movies with him curled up on the tiny couch back at their group dorm in Tokyo, their fingertips greasy with the copious amount of butter they both liked to put on their popcorn, misses lying awake in the morning with Oikawa wrapped around him, the smell of his coconut milk shampoo lingering on the pillowcase, misses just having the time to talk with him without worrying about their schedules and what time slot they have to fill next.

 

He’s sick of sneaking hidden moments in supply closets or in the backseat of one of the vans the staff uses to transport their twelve-member band as they rush to another commercial filming or another awards ceremony.

 

After this two-week span of little to no interaction, Suga is desperate to feel something real, something that isn’t sugar-coated or layered in five shades of foundation or covered in glitter and sequins.

 

It isn’t as if performing isn’t his dream. Suga is in love with the music him and his band produce together, practices hard each and every day to perfect the complicated and intensive choreography of the dances so that he shines on stage, adores his fans and never fails to be completely floored by their dedication to come to the concerts and scream well-practiced fan chants.

 

But he also needs Oikawa, and soon.

 

The feeling is an ache in his chest, an itch in the tips of his fingers, the pathetic thump his heart gives whenever they make eye contact.

 

So as soon as his eyes had landed on the skirt hanging from the clothes rack one of the managers had wheeled into their studio, a plan had formed in Suga’s head.

 

He knows that Oikawa is rooming with Kenma tonight at the hotel they’ve booked in Osaka, and he knows that Kenma can be very hard to convince to break the sleeping schedule, even if he’s guaranteed to stay in the room he’s been assigned to.

 

But Suga also knows that Oikawa can be very persuasive when he’s motivated, when he’s set on getting something he wants.

 

Which is where the skirt comes in. A little added pressure to the tight string of tension that’s formed over two weeks, a little added push.

 

Oikawa isn’t the only one who knows how to get the things he wants, Suga thinks smugly, the pleats of the mint skirt he had pulled on a few minutes earlier swishing around the tops of his thighs pleasantly as he walks.

 

The stylist had paired it with a long-sleeved, high-necked, charcoal-colored silk shirt that tucks into the tight waistband and black, knee-high stockings that leave a sliver of pale skin visible between the bottom of the skirt and the beginning of the delicate lace trim, and Suga grins when Bokuto gives a low whistle from over by the water table when he walks by, Terushima cat-calling a few seconds later, the aureate stud in his tongue catching the multi-colored stage lights from the performance going on before theirs.

 

"Are you trying to kill someone?"

 

Suga turns to look at Shirabu who’s materialized at his side, the other boy dressed in dark-washed skinny jeans that hug the curve of his hips and a white, button-up, collared shirt that’s undone at the top, his mint tie hanging loosely and unknotted around his neck, his right eyebrow adorned with a line of glittering, silver piercings that rise when he raises an eyebrow at the cut-out back of Suga’s shirt that reveals the curve of his spine and pale shoulder blades adorned with a scattering of moles.

 

"Maybe," Suga teases, fiddling with the billow of his shirt at his waist, adjusting the microphone pack attached there that’s cleverly hidden by the material.

 

"Don’t torture him too much," Shirabu admonishes half-heartedly, amusement dancing in his tone, glancing over his shoulder to where Oikawa is getting his makeup done, and Suga follows his bandmate’s perceptive gaze, feels his pulse beat just a little faster when he realizes that Oikawa is looking their way, his amber eyes locking with Suga’s gold ones.

 

Suga winks at him, does a little twirl that makes his skirt spin prettily, and watches with satisfaction when his boyfriend jumps a little in the makeup chair, swallowing hard and giving him a strained smile before he looks away.

 

Shirabu shakes his head, a grin flitting over his mouth.

 

"You’re evil," he tells Suga.

 

 

 

Suga sighs, toweling through his wet hair, the curtains open in his room to the view of Osaka’s nightlife, his bare feet curled underneath him on the bed.

 

The concert had been a success, no costume mishaps or dance routine mistakes or audio issues, and Suga is pleasantly tired, his throat scratchy from all of the singing and shouting he had done, a few new bruises blooming amethyst and violet over his knees from that horrendous drop move in that one choreography.

 

Semi is sprawled over the other bed in the room, texting on his phone and listening to classical music. It’s one of the ways he unwinds after a long show, the soft melodies that pour from his headphones so different from the tongue-twisting raps he spits out on stage.

 

Suga is the only one to hear the knock on the hotel room door, Semi sparing him a quick glance as Suga passes to answer it, anticipation fizzing through his veins like the bubbles in the marble soda he had shared with Iwaizumi on the way back from the stadium, their sweaty skin pressed together stickily in the cramped van as the city flew by outside the windows.

 

The face that greets him when he opens the door leaves him giddy, a breath of fresh air in the humid summer weather that doesn’t seem to dull with the disappearance of the sun below the horizon, that the rackety air conditioner in the room can’t entirely combat.

 

Oikawa grins at him, his face clear of makeup, hair still slightly damp from a shower, a bag slung over his shoulder.

 

Despite the air of nonchalance hovering around his shoulders, Suga can see the same longing in Oikawa’s eyes that he himself feels just under his ribcage, a desire to touch, to feel, and he takes a deep breath, gestures for Oikawa to come in, electricity hovering over his skin when Oikawa brushes past him.

 

As soon as Semi sees the two of them, he sighs, tugs his earphones out and swings his legs over the bed, grabbing his own unpacked bag from the floor.

 

"Kenma’s room, right?" he asks, Suga nodding and shooting him a grateful smile that Oikawa copies with an added peace sign thrown up.

 

"See you in the morning, Semi Semi," Oikawa calls after his retreating figure, the other boy grumbling something under his breath and then leaving, silence settling over the room as soon as the lock clicks shut.

 

Suga turns to Oikawa, who’s set down his bag by their feet, tries to say, _"Long time, no see,"_ in a manner that is meant to sound lighthearted, but Oikawa doesn’t give him the chance.

 

In between one breath and the next, Oikawa is gripping the loose collar of Suga’s sleep shirt, yanking him forward to crash their mouths together, and Suga is taken aback only for a second before he wraps his arms around the back of Oikawa’s neck and tugs him closer, until there isn’t an inch of space between them.

 

It’s open-mouthed and hot, a tinge of desperation to both of their actions, Oikawa slanting his head and pressing harder, licking at the roof of Suga’s mouth as if they haven’t been alone for months instead of weeks.

 

"Did you like the skirt?" Suga manages to gasp out when they part to breathe, teasing, pushing, his fingers buried in the soft hair at the back of Oikawa’s neck, Oikawa’s hands sliding from his collar to wrap a strong grip around Suga’s waist, thumbs brushing over the sharp edges of his hipbones.

 

He’s well-aware that Oikawa hadn’t been able to tear his eyes away onstage, under the burning lights and amidst the deafening cheers of the crowd, had been hyperaware of the fleeting touches Oikawa had left across his skin whenever they had happened to pass each other, had worked extra hard to flaunt his outfit whenever he had the chance, spinning and whirling, crossing one leg over the other when they all sat down in chairs to sing one of their slow songs with a sweet, lilting undertone, the skirt slipping up his thighs teasingly.

 

Oikawa barely gives him time to catch his breath, sweeping back in and catching his mouth again, a low sound of frustration leaving his throat.

 

"Are you trying to-," Oikawa breathes out in between bruising kisses that Suga lets himself get swept away in, "drive me- completely crazy?"

 

Suga laughs, very breathlessly, the sound choking off into a low moan when Oikawa bites down on his lower lip and sucks it in between both of his, the two of them stumbling a little until Suga’s back hits the wall with a thud.

 

"Shit," Oikawa says, pulling away and quickly glancing at Suga’s face, "are you okay?"

 

Suga smiles, glad for something to lean his weight against because his knees have gone a little weak, and nods, and Oikawa leans back in, mouths at the sensitive skin of his neck, drags teeth and tongue across the expanse when Suga gasps and lets his head fall back, baring his throat.

 

He’s missed this so much, has missed feeling Oikawa breathe against him and the pressure of his arms around his waist, the feel of his hands pressing against the flat of his back, pulling him closer and closer until Suga can’t think about anything but the other.

 

Suga’s broken from his pleasantly-dazed, mindless stupor, the heat of Oikawa sucking soft enough along his jawline, at the beauty mark that lies just below his right ear, to not leave any noticeable marks that would be hard to explain to the makeup staff, but hard enough to stir heat in the pit of Suga’s stomach, to leave his hips barely rocking forward, lazy and seeking friction, when Oikawa’s hands switch from their positions on his waist to slide under his knees and the back of his shoulders instead, scooping him up in one swift movement bridal style.

 

"Tooru," Suga shrieks, suddenly airborne, clutched to Oikawa’s chest as he takes two quick strides over to Suga’s bed and then drops him to the mattress.

 

Suga pushes his bangs back from his face, peers up at Oikawa, who’s grinning, probably due to Suga’s embarrassing yelp, but Oikawa is crawling over him before Suga can remember to blush.

 

"I had to promise Kenma that I would buy him ramen noodles for a solid week," Oikawa murmurs, not sounding too put-off by the offer as he noses into Suga’s hair, inhaling and relaxing against him when Suga wraps tight arms around his middle.

 

"Mmm," Suga answers, letting his lips brush over Oikawa’s forehead, kissing down his cheek to his chin and then capturing his lips again, the two of them breathing unevenly against each other, Oikawa’s hands slipping up under his shirt and rucking it up to reveal his stomach.

 

"Was it worth it?" Suga chokes out when Oikawa slides down to suck dark marks under his ribcage, down to his navel, along the flared wings of his hipbones, warm palms slipping down the length of his bare legs, fingers trailing sparks.

 

Oikawa pauses, glances up at Suga with dark eyes and a soft smile, his hair mussed and his cheeks as flushed as Suga can feel his are, heartbreakingly beautiful.

 

"Absolutely," he answers.

**Author's Note:**

> day 4 of oisuga week: idols
> 
> so i'm late but it's here
> 
> also, i decided that i would take votes to determine what prompt i should write for the last day of oisuga week, so let me know what you guys would like to see in the comments or [here](http://oisugasuga.tumblr.com/) (*≧▽≦)


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